


The Domestic Experiences of Sherlock Holmes

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 7 days of domesticity, But how much can he endure, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Food, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is annoying sometimes, Sherlock is a Mess, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Stung by John's criticism, Sherlock promises to do domestic duties for a week. Hijinks and more Hijinks ensue!
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	The Domestic Experiences of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



It all started with me saying John was the wife in our relationship.

This sentence launched a bitter, raucous and despondent tirade from John Hamish Watson, resulting in a situation I have never faced in my thirty-five years on this planet. Let me give you some _data_ around it.

Apparently, there were many things wrong in that sentence which John didn’t hesitate to point out. One – We were not in a mere ‘relationship’. We are married and therefore I should have used the word ‘marriage’ instead of relationship. Apparently, I undermined our marriage by omitting the word ‘married partner’ in that sentence. Two – I am supposedly a man with a Boomer mindset. In today’s world people are simply partners and gender divides should not be quoted in terms of duties and responsibilities. So a wife can earn and a husband can cook, a wife can take the car for servicing and a man can buy eggs and milk from a grocery store. Three – The implied meaning in my sentence made John feel less of a man and he had high objections to that.

Tried to garner support from mummy and daddy. Daddy said ‘Mummy knows best, whatever she says is right otherwise I will be in your position son.’ Mummy said I had made a serious mistake calling John a typical wife. Went to Mycroft, had little hopes he would support me and I was proved right when he proudly announced that ever since he married George Lestrade he has learned never to contest roles and responsibilities in the house.

Mrs. Hudson was decidedly antagonistic and told me I am a numskull outside of my cases and investigations. So the old bat compartmentalized by intelligence but I dare not revolt or there will be no morning tea, laundered clothes and the occasional biscuits, cakes, scones, sandwiches and milkshakes.

Tried to make up in bed with John but he refused saying no sex till I learned to do my share of duties at home. Apparently, lifting my leg or arm as he dusts and vacuums the carpet or my chair isn’t called ‘sharing of domestic duties’.

Then came the worst insult ever.

Called Jim and Sebastian who live a retired life in the Bahamas now and got an earful from Jim saying I should be more of myself and _show John his place_. It would have worked had I not heard Sebastian yelling in the background about sausages burning and potatoes getting overboiled in the kitchen. Jim then sheepishly told me he needs to live out his old age with Sebastian so even a man as crazy as him won’t take a few chances at home.

The situation was further compromised when I made a second attempt to initiate sex with John and was told I was incompetent at home and tried to mask that by pretending to be the alpha male.

Seriously? An alpha male? When did I ever pretend to be so? I don’t need that _. I AM_ THE ALPHA MALE.

That’s it! Sherlock Holmes always rises to a challenge and conquers it. If a man of average height and intelligence as John can do this then so can I. Actually if my no-good brother can do it then why can’t I? If Jim Moriarty can do this then why can’t I?

So I took up the seven-day challenge of ‘no cases’ and ‘managing the house’ entirely on my own while John worked and got some ‘me-time’ during his off-work hours.

***

**Day One** – I made a list of all the things I am supposed to do, collected data from all sources possible and I am totally ready to prove Sherlock Holmes is a genius at everything, not just handling criminal cases. I know John can’t bake cakes and cookies so I decided I must bake one to prove I am even better than him, in some way! Grabbed a recipe from old Hudders and started with the ingredients. Seemed simply enough until the recipe said ‘Beat 10 eggs separately’. We have only five bowls. Had to borrow bowls from Hudders and several neighbours. One of them said she would ‘Donate homemade cookies to me on _compassionate grounds’_ but I refused. Why should I be compassionate towards her?

Managed things well till I put them in the oven. Soon smoke bellowed out and there were mini explosions inside the oven, causing Hudders to call the fire truck.

She grumbled as she cleaned up later, something about how I could be so stupid as to follow instructions to the last word. But that’s what one must do. Established, proven data and methods must be followed. Then she reveals that my oven is set in Celsius while the recipe gave directions in Fahrenheit. That is totally the problem of the author who wrote that book. I am going to publish an open letter to Nigella Lawson and ask her to smarten up. Directions must be clear and precise.

John came home to soup and bread but didn’t seem to mind until he had the soup. He was delirious with joy, I think. He kept crying and crying as he ate the soup and I am sure I must have served him a bigger portion than he could handle, so he munched plain bread later and abandoned the rest of the soup. After dinner, for some odd reason, John started crunching down on ice cubes.

I think it must be his work at the hospital. Poor darling is _overworked._

I had eaten a pizza ‘donated’ to me by a neighbour earlier, so I didn’t have soup. Gave it to the cat that lives next door. Damned ungrateful creature kept meowing ferociously all night.

***

**Day Two** – I asked John if he wanted to have fried rice, pilaf or risotto. He told me noncommittally ‘First cook and then we can name the dish’. I am sure his work weighs heavily on his mind.

I got some sandwiches and coffee for lunch, again ‘donated’ by a neighbour.

Tasted nice and it was quite filling too. I wonder though, as to why they keep saying they’re doing this on _compassionate grounds_. I have no compassion whatsoever for any of them. They are a bunch of noisy, brainless people who were annoyingly intrusive as well. Imagine I am playing the violin in my house and they complain to Mrs. Hudson saying, ‘Those two need to put their house in order’.

I refused a case today. It wasn’t so interesting. But while I was refusing it over the phone the eggs burned and when I tried to flip them over, they flew upwards and got stuck in the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson almost got a crick in the neck staring at them in astonishment.

I called Gander Lestrade, aka brother-in-law, for a little help with some raw materials for my next recipe. I wanted to make a salad and needed just a few ingredients for it, like cucumbers, lettuce, pomegranate, olives, carrots, salad oil, some seasonings and apricot kernels. He first snaps at me for calling him ‘Gander’. Okay so I was wrong but I still made him a male goose. Told him so and he got sarcastic. Said why did I even plan a salad when I had practically no ingredients for my ‘Garden salad with breadcrumbs’. That is wrong at so many levels. _I had the breadcrumbs, yes sir!_ Eventually he got me all the ingredients and also gave me several sheets of paper with his name written on it.

“Memorize” – Came the high command.

The papers are now in the bin. Somewhere a tree died so my brother in law could indulge in his whims.

John was okay with the salad and I presented him with the rice dish. Honestly I am not a good eater so I was done with the salad but I could sense my husband was hungry, so the rice dish I cooked was presented only to him.

He chewed on a mouthful and got emotional again. Then rushed out of the flat saying he needed to see a dentist.

Imagine at this hour he’s still working. Seeing another doctor, no doubt for a patient who has problems with their teeth as well as intestines. He needs to lessen his workload.

***

**Day three** – Today John told me not to cook rice. Strange! But I shall do as he says.

I tried my hand at laundry today. The results showed I had a knack for ‘inventions’.

I put in my purple shirt and John’s white shirt. I also put in my pink boxers, a gift from John, along with his grey boxers. After the wash the purple shirt and pink boxers remained the same, but the white shirt and grey boxers came out a lovely shade of mauve and violet respectively. I called John to tell him this but one of the senior nurse assistants took the message. When she heard this she started feeling unwell. Must be _inferiority complex._

Later John called and started making odd noises when I told him the nurse had heard the exact same things I had told her. I am sure now it’s his work. My poor Jawn is so stressed out nowadays.

Later that evening John came home looking scared. I told him I wasn’t angry for him being late. He gave me a helpless glance and a watery smile. I told him I could get him something and he jumped three feet from his chair. Then, when he saw it was a can of beer he sighed loudly and smiled and said, “Oh something which isn’t cooked. Yeah, bring it on, come and sit on my lap baby.”

What’s it with John and his preference for ‘uncooked’ things. Anyways, first things first. Sitting on his lap led to great sex and sex led to napping. When we woke up he was in a brilliant mood and said he would eat anything I had made. I was already sure he would like the food I had cooked. After all I had acted on his wishes and made rice, which was not cooked. He did tell me ‘Do not cook rice today’ so I didn’t. When I set the plate of rice before him he stared at the dish in wonder for so long that I was most flattered. Then he sent me to fetch the ‘Kama Sutra’ book and when I came back he had finished all the rice.

Incredible. I feel like an accomplished cook.

***

**Day Four** – Day started with Mrs. Hudson’s tea and her sadness filled report that the neighbour’s cat had taken sick and was with the vet. Someone had fed it last night. Some grains of rice were found around the passed-out feline.

I called Sebastian Moran to complain about a breakfast casserole recipe he had shared with me. It turned out really bad and I suspected a conspiracy. He was trying to break up my marriage with John.

The moron got angry and upset and told me that apparently fold in eggs didn’t mean ‘fry the eggs first because it’s easier to fold them that way’ and chop the scallions into bite size pieces didn’t mean ‘byte size’. Well, I hadn’t chopped them because ‘byte’ size is not given explicitly anywhere, not even the net. I accused him of not giving clear instructions, he accused me of being a ‘straitjacket’ cartoon who needed robot-like programming to function.

Traded insults. He told me with all the recipe books and instructions I read I should be somewhat okay at cooking. I told him with all the porn he watches he should get better at fucking.

Jim and I got texting, he defended his Sebby and I defended my insults, until the evil twat called me a _wimp._ Before that I might have called him an _imp,_ which is besides the point.

I am not talking to him for at least… _.three days._

***

**Day Five** – I woke up early because Jim texted me, breaking the vow of silence to tell me Sebastian was incredible in bed the night before. 'Keep insulting him - JM' was the text he sent before going silent. Since I was up anyways, I decided to make breakfast for John. It’s a day off for him and he’s going to be at home. Thank God. Poor Jawn, so overworked. I think he doesn’t lack stamina in his body but his poor average mind might not be up to it.

So I left him sleeping and went to the kitchen.

There were only two slices of toast left so I put them in the toaster. Then I decided on microwave pancakes. This time I set the oven to the correct timings and temperature. Then I set about scrambling eggs and frying some bacon. Seemed simple enough till I realized one can only save one thing at a time and not the entire world. The smell of burning toast distracted me and I forgot the eggs and bacon, then as I was trying to resuscitate the toasts the frying pan caught fire and the bacon and eggs were gone. I tried to handle the situation but only managed to slip and slide on the gooey contents of a cracked egg on the floor (no idea how it ended up there) and my palm landed on a side of the hot pan.

My scream brought John rushing in and he hosed me and the pan and perhaps the entire kitchen down with the extinguisher. Suddenly I was covered in foam and John got a bit of the foam on him too.

It was quite a sight, seeing him standing there in the nude with the extinguisher, a bit of foam on his chin and a bit on the knee and ahem, a little on the dick.

Just as I was despairing that we had nothing left to cook for breakfast, he discovered that I had forgotten to turn the microwave on. So the pancakes were not done but at least they were not really destroyed. _Thank science for small mercies._

My man eventually managed to prepare breakfast out of that happy coincidence, pancakes and bottled maple syrup and some tea.

He didn’t let me out of his sight the rest of the day and ordered lunch for us, saying I ‘should not cook’. In the evening he had to go for an emergency though, just for a couple of hours, during which I decided to cook dinner. We had a chicken in the freezer so I called mummy to figure out how to prepare it. She told me to dress it, so dress it I did. I put John’s socks on the chicken and video called mummy to show her.

She said she was sending us dinner that night through a cousin who was in the area nearby and passed by Baker Street on her way home. In the background I distinctly heard daddy say, ‘Oh Eugenia, where did we go wrong’. I think they messed up the plumbing again.

***

**Day six** – John woke me up with a blowjob and once that was done, I returned the favor. He seemed to be in a good mood but began to hiccup the moment I said today was laundry, grocery and cooking day. In fact we would cook enough to freeze in batches for the next few days of the week. I am a hundred percent sure they are overworking him at Barts. I must convince him to take on a less stressful job.

Just heard on the news that Elton John has gone to rehab for his shopaholic condition. Apparently, he tried to buy the handsome salesclerk along with the suit. But the funnier thing that Sunday was Mycroft wearing jeans when he went to the church with Grey Lestrade. We saw their Instagram upload and I was totally convinced Myc would break out in some sort of rash later. He’s the sort of guy who graduated into suits straight from diapers.

In the meantime John dragged me out saying we would have all our meals outside, and laundry duty will be taken over by Mrs. Hudson. But I managed to prevail when it came to grocery shopping. After a nice scrumptious breakfast and a hilarious play at the Old Vic, we went grocery shopping at a large Tesco's. No idea what happened over the next two hours but we were thrown out of two supermarkets before John kept me locked in the car and went in alone in the third. This time things were uneventful and peaceful and he had bags and bags of shopping with him. I began to deduce my own actions in the previous establishments. Maybe I had overreacted to a few people, snarked around a bit too much.

But I was right, all along.

A man was being repeatedly berated by his wife so I told him ‘Buddy why did you marry this thing. You should marry a proper woman, not a crow in a dress cawing at your ear.’ Next I told a woman with three screaming triplets that she should invest in ear plugs, for everyone around her. Women don’t take slights too well….oh no, some men don’t take them well either. Like that store manager who seemed gutted when I dislodged his stack of milk cartons, accidentally breaking open a couple of them.

He yelled at me _‘What do you think this looks like?’_

My answer ‘Picasso’ didn’t amuse him.

***

**Day Seven** \- Trend continued with John ordering in meals and Mrs. Hudson supplying the rest. I guess my husband loves me very much and doesn't want me to work on a Sunday. But late into the evening we were hungry as we watched television. We had stayed in bed and gone for three rounds around noon, resulting in oversleeping due to post-coital laziness, which had led to a missed lunch.

That lunch was then converted to dinner and we ate at five-thirty. Naturally, it did not sustain us for long and around ten in the night John said he would make some instant-noodles. I volunteered to do that. He agreed but looked uneasy. Said he had to reply to a few texts from some interns at the hospital. I swear, his strange behavior can be deduced easily and traced straight down to his work.

I read the instructions and followed them religiously. Boil water – did. Pour over the cake – Not sure why we need cake in noodles but the package says so, so I took some pineapple pastries and poured the boiling hot water on them. Thought of using the large two pound chocolate cake we had bought the previous day but it would have been too much for us to eat, yeah, _pineapple pastries seemed fine_. Next step said 'Wait for ten minutes' – Waited. Serve – So I did. The dry blocks of noodles in a plate and a bowl with cake soaked in hot water. John was still doing something on his phone, still being bugged and hounded by that confounded workplace of his, but when he saw the food he was so happy he dropped the phone.

Then he stared at the food with his jaw on the floor. The next moment the phone rang again and he began howling ‘Why me, why me, _why me? God Almighty, please, why meeeeee?’_

_I told you it’s his work._

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fic and should be read as such, as lighthearted fun. I do not make any claims of representing any gender, community, preference or any labels/brackets whatsoever.


End file.
